


Night Call, Collect

by TreacleA



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 06:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12359853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreacleA/pseuds/TreacleA
Summary: "I have a reverse charges call from Los Angeles, California. Will you accept the charges?"(2003)





	Night Call, Collect

The phone rings and Buffy jumps up to answer it, because Dawn is so obviously going to win again anyway and she's bored of playing cards.

       "Hello, the...uh...Giles...residence."

_"I have a reverse charges call from Los Angeles, California. Will you accept the charges?"_

       "Oh, sure, ok. I guess."

There have been a few of them lately, collect calls, 'reverse charge' they call them here. Mostly from Europe, although last week someone called from Guam. Buffy isn't entirely sure where that is, but when she says the name 'Guam' she sees rain-forest and mosquitoes in her head. The sort of place she imagines Riley might be.

The lines buzzes, crackles and then connects.

       "Hello?"

A soft rush of sound, like water or like wind through leaves. Faintly, she thinks she hears the sounds of traffic, a murmur of footsteps and voices. City sounds.

       "Hello?"

The handset is sticking to her ear, and she frowns, switches to the other side. There's a car horn, the unmistakable high tap of stiletto heels on sidewalk. Passing laughter.

       "Hellooooo?"

She grimaces and drops the thing back into its cradle.

       "Who was it?" Dawn has her cards fanned out, her eyes mild curiosity over the top.

       "No one. Heavy breather."

Two nights later and as they shove through the front door, arms piled full of fragrant M&S bags and a whole new winter wardrobe for her sister, the phone is ringing again.

       "I'll get it. Go put these in the kitchen." Buffy's hair is flying as she grabs for it, full of the smell of autumn, ozone and wood-smoke. "And don't eat my cheese one. Hello? Giles, ah...resi..."

_"I have a reverse charges call from Los Angeles, California. Will you accept the charges?"_

       "What? Oh sure, okay."

Dawn is paused in the doorway, rummaging through the plastic, crinkled nose, "Which one was my hat in?"

       "Hello?"

This time the traffic noise is louder. A busy downtown street, mid afternoon. She can almost hear the sun, the heat rising up from the subways. Nothing else, and she frowns irritably.

       "Oh! It's you again. You going to say anything this time?"

Someone calls out in Spanish, teenage voices and Buffy sighs gustily, looks at her sister.

       "You know it's really pretty pointless making long-distance obscene phone calls, especially when they're not even...you know...obscene. You might want to try some noises, grunts maybe. Something creepy, 'cause the whole menacing silence thing? Is getting really old."

Dawn mouths at her, frowning 'who is it'? and her sister shakes her head.

       "OK, well I have to go now. Same time next week though, ok?"

Five days this time, and she's almost forgotten. Hallowe'en isn't a big thing over here at all and even buying a pumpkin seems a whole lot harder than it should be. A whole lot more expensive too, although Giles never makes her feel like money is a problem. She gets a wage, paid into her brand new British bank account and it's plenty for what she needs, which isn't a lot these days. She follows Dawn from store to store but finds that she looks at all the clothes and shoes with different eyes now, wonders what ever happened to the girl who lived to shop. 'All grown up now', although she knows deep down that that isn't the reason. That what's been taken from her isn't her youth.

She excuses herself far too often. Smiles mysteriously when they tease her.

       "She's probably going to meet some handsome farm lad over by the 'stile!"

       "What's a 'stile'?"

       "Oh my God, Dawnie, you have to read Thomas Hardy!"

Willow isn't here often enough. Shy grins and fluttering red-bright hair as she stumbles through the door with her suitcase. Hallowe'en is as good an excuse as any. Buffy is glad she's here, glad that Willow doesn't ask, doesn't have to ask. Plays her part in distracting Dawn for a few hours while Buffy slips away to walk alone, wrapped in woollen scarves and huddled down in her heavy winter coat. Enjoying the freezing evening mist that bathes her face.

Sometimes she walks for hours, small and shadow-slight in the darkness, swallowed up by all the pitch black trees, soaked by the rain and the moonlight. She loves to walk listening to the night sounds, her senses like a fox, tripping light over the thick wet grass. Later, when she approaches the house, the yellow light burning from every downstairs window doesn't seem as comforting as it once did. Her need to come in from the dark has lessened, and somewhere inside she knows why that is too.

The phone rings and she answers it as she hangs up her scarf, drapes her coat over the banister.

_"I have a reverse charges call from Los Angeles, California. Will you accept the charges?"_

       "Yes."

Eight hours spin out between here and there, and she counts them silently. Listens to the clatter and chatter of a city getting ready for a holiday, children shrieking, horns blaring. It's 3.30pm there, hot dry day, clear sky and the night still to come.

       "Why don't you say anything?"

A sound then, like the rustle of leaves, breath and she frowns. Something strange.

       "Why call if you have nothing to say to me?"

She hears Dawn from the next room, laughing, Willow's voice and then Giles' low familiar murmur. He must have just got back and she hadn't even noticed his car out front. On the other end of the line there is only silence now, like a holding of breath, and she closes her eyes and gently replaces the handset.

       "Buffy! Are you back? Giles bought cider!"

It's winter now, and she surprises herself with her delight in it all. The snow like she'd always imagined it, great fat feathers drifting from the sky to powder the green and melt on her upturned face. She laughs for the first time in an age, sticks out her tongue like a child and tastes Christmas.

Dawn's eyes glow like fireflies. She has a friend now, a girl called Rebecca who has long, thick, curly brown hair like a molasses and a great loud laugh. They run around together with arms linked, skipping, crazed. Rebecca goes shopping with them now, and after a while Buffy lets herself melt into the background like a warm snowflake. The relief is blissful. Now when Dawn is in the house she's always on the phone, lying halfway down the stairs, face down on the couch in the front room, dipping cornflakes out of her bowl one-handed, eyes on cartoons. Her sister is like an echo of herself at that age, and she smiles faintly as she closes the door on her. Slips away to her own room.

Xander comes, and brings candy. All kinds of fantastic crap: Twinkies, Chocodiles, Hersheys, Butterfingers, Tootsie Pops. After the initial thrill though, Buffy finds herself staring silently down at the pack of Big Red gum, wondering how she could ever have enjoyed the taste.

Xander seems happy enough, healthy and brown. He's lost all the weight he put on last year and when he grins at her and wraps her in his arms, she remembers how much she's missed him and holds on for dear life.

       "Woah! Ribs, Buff! Plus, internal organs! Jeez, have you been eating spinach again?"

They laugh, but the look he gives her is searching, and she knows that later she will have to account for herself. The thought of it makes her cold inside.

Giles is home early and despite his natural reserve he seems overcome with happiness to see Xander. Watching them exchange awkward manly hugs and smiles, Buffy finds herself wondering how much Giles misses male companionship. The Scoobies always were heavy on the girl-power of course, but at least back home he always had a guy around to talk to, even if it was only...

And even as she starts to think it, she sweeps it aside.

       "Hey, how's Faith doing? Have you seen anyone else lately?"

It's a good evening, full of love, and her heart swells now when she looks around the room. Willow, on the window seat, is talking low, smiling, probably to Kennedy in Tucson. That's where she was last time she asked her anyway. Dawn and Xander are draped on the couch, her feet in his lap, staring into the fire, Giles telling them something creepy, brandy and ice-cubes in hand. Legs folded up beneath her, Buffy is cocooned in warmth, cradled in the depths of her favourite leather chair, and later when she climbs the stairs to bed she carries a little of it with her. Like a candle she takes to her room.

Cosy among her mounds of quilt and pillows, she wraps her arms around her body, listens, listens in the silence. It's Christmas Eve, and the quiet is infused with that specialness. That unique night that, despite all the darkness and cold inside her, she knows should still means something, should still stir that feeling of expectant joy.

The phone wakes her into dim blue light and she sneaks a hand out, brings it inside.

       "Uhh..hello?"

      _"I have a reverse charges call from Los Angeles, California. Will you accept the charges?"_

       "Sure...O.K."

She doesn't know why she says it, but she tells herself, blurry with sleep, that it could be her Dad even though she knows he's in Spain. Tucks the receiver up under her chin in a pocket of warmth and listens, listens. Quiet city night and the far away unmistakable sound of a clock chiming. A church maybe, or a tower and she counts the chimes. Ten...eleven...twelve. Twelve midnight there and just the thought of it makes her lonely. Lonely for the night.

       "Hello?"

Brush of breath or wind, she isn't sure and she presses her ear to the receiver, waits for something. Anything. Waits for a long time before she speaks.

       "It's cold over here. Is it cold there?"

She breathes, listens, cups the mouthpiece to her lips,

       "I bet it isn't. Probably 60 degrees right?"

Nothing, just a low traffic sound far off.

       "It's Christmas though right? I mean only just, but...I should get up soon. Dawn will be awake and she wants to make cocoa before she opens presents."

She hesitates, wrapping a hand through the cord,

       "Giles got her a kitten, but she doesn't know. Hopefully it hasn't chewed through the wrapping yet."

A small sound and she half smiles suddenly, wondering at herself. Wondering what she's doing.

       "I got Xander one of those tool belts, like on 'Tool Time'. He has one already but this one is better. It has his name on in studs. This guy called John in the leather shop said it was 'the dogs bollocks'. I think that means good."

This time she's almost sure she hears it, but it's the 'almost' that tears her up inside. Like a laugh, but not. Like a voice, but not. Like someone, but not. But something. It's something, and she holds the handset tighter, burrows down further under the covers.

       "I think I used to like Christmas, but I can't remember. All the tinsel and the trimming the tree, it all gets kind of mixed up with the blood and terror, you know? Everything gets blurry and I can't picture it. I remember Mom loved it though. Always loved it. Loved buying us stuff. Seeing us laughing. I remember she used to do all the cheesy stuff, lighting candles, carols. She wanted everyone to be happy."

She hears him sigh then and she closes her eyes tight. Wills herself to stay here, half between waking and sleep, teetering in this in-between world where she can speak to him and he can hear her. Because she knows it's a dream now but she wants it to stay perfect, stay whole for just a moment longer. For just a few moments longer.

       "I miss you, " and then the tear leaks out to melt into the pillow, salts her cheek with its path, "I miss you and I don't feel...right any more. And it's not just that everything is...gone, or that I feel older. I feel like I'm...waiting still. Waiting for someone to say, go. Go and do it. Do something. Something except walk and wait and sit and listen. But I don't know what."

She breathes out, warm breath,

       "I wish I knew though. I really wish I knew."

She imagines him frowning then, rolling his eyes as he stands, half slumped against the wall of the phone booth. One hand searching his pocket for cigarettes, about to reply to her.

       "But no one's going to tell me, right? No one but me."

She nods, chastised, pulls the quilt around her a little closer, listening to the night,

       "I suppose I just want to be sure. Sure that it's really...over, you know? That there's no chance of...things ever going back to the way they were. I wonder if I'll ever feel safe. If I'll ever feel like I can finally breathe. I go for walks here, on my own, because when I'm by myself at least I know..."

She swallows, finally admitting to herself,

       "At least then I know it's just me. If something happens it'll just be me, and I'll see it coming. And I'm listening so hard the whole time but nothing ever...nothing happens. And I'm still here. And I still don't know what comes next."

Downstairs in the hall she hears Dawn's voice, Willow's and she shudders then, feels the distance stretching out along the wires from her hand. The tension as they stretch to breaking.

       "But I'm ok. You don't need to...I mean I'll be ok. Dawn is. And we'll be fine. It's just going to take a while."

A shift, like leather against metal and a sigh again, a soft tapping of fingers. Her eyes slide shut and she can see him clearly. Small, slight smile and damp silver-gold curls as he bows his head to the ground, looks at his feet.

       "It's getting late. You should go."

Her lips brush the mouthpiece again and she smiles too, morning-pink and warm to deep-blue night on the other side of the world. One hand cradles the handset as she listens, ears straining, to the sounds growing faint now. The buzz of long-distance and the echo of her own voice. There are sea-sounds, like long deep Pacific waves rolling on the shore, sands shifting, and she wonders whether every inch of the line is alive and humming. Alive and humming, connecting directly to her heart.

       "Merry Christmas, Spike."

She waits forever before the line goes dead, waits even longer before she reaches out and replaces the receiver. Wraps herself back up, close and warm like a gift, throat tight, and silently she waits for it to begin.

 

**THE END**


End file.
